Tribal: Prologue (Patreon)

The dusty, humid bus was in and of itself a terrible experience with it’s lack of AC and the bumpy road collaborating with the half-rotted tired to create a smelly, hot cabin that slopped lazily from side to side as it went. The nauseating motion kept it’s sole passenger intensely focused on controlling her queasiness instead of taking in the sights. Eventually, the bus rolled to a slow, hissing stop and the driver rose from his seat to look back at a single slip of a blonde girl seated halfway towards the back.

“Alright, last stop. You’re here! Enjoy your stay and I hope you have a good time. Make sure to leave a good review, ne?” The heavily accented bus driver called cheerfully to her from behind his sunglasses.

Or rather, more accurately, she thought, he didn’t have am accent here so much as she did.

Gwendolyn Wolfe was over the moon with the approval of her humanitarian relief mission to the far reaches of rural Nigeria. For the next two years, she would be working to integrate herself into the culture and daily life of the remote village of Kiba. Here, she would work tirelessly to improve the lives of the natives and learn about their customs and rituals so that she could document her findings, results, and overall experiences on what she was certain was going to be the biggest, most important journey of her life.

At a mere 5’2 and 100 pounds even, Gwen had always been a tiny girl and never really had any kind of sporting inclination or athletic ability. She was smart and well spoken, which served her well, but always lamented her lack of physical ability. Still, she had pleaded for her parents to send her to finishing school where she was taught to act like a “proper lady” in an outdated but elegant way that was in her mind exceptionally difficult to learn, and even harder to unlearn. While under the tutelage of Madam Monro Gwen had perfect posture whipped into her with a riding crop and trained to the utmost etiquette in table manners and speech. From there she was educated in the proper allowances of diet and exercise to maintain a feathery light and delicate figure that “a suitable husband would find pleasing.”

It amused her that for as much emphasis as she put on such old-timey ideals of what it meant to be a woman, Gwen was only there because her feminist ideals saw finishing school as a way of turning her into the next Lara Croft as opposed to the next Daphne Bridgerton. Gwendolyn Wolfe had no interest in being a stay at home mom or idiot trophy wife with a useless degree from some sham university that molded women to into one of three flavors of attractive idiot. She was going to see and save the world from itself while learning the wonders of her own inner strength, all starting with her fateful Kiba, Nigeria.

(1)

Conveniently, the main languages spoken in Kiba were English and Hausa in that order, so she wouldn’t have any trouble communicating with the locals from a linguistic standpoint. She greeted a group of plump young tribeswomen on her way up to the village center and asked for directions towards the village elder she had been told to look for upon her arrival. Each girl seemed to be somewhere between 17 and 20, though all of them were chubbier than she’d expected to see in such a primitive village. Perhaps freshly in or even out of the tribal fattening huts, she thought, preparing for marriage. Their clothes looked to be traditional tribal garments that while not especially fashionable to a modern eye, were impressively woven and colorful when looked at in the scope of the level of technology available for making them. That coupled with the decorative and colorful stone necklaces they wore made Gwen believe that these young women were most likely the picture of beauty in the village frozen in time. The girls happily complied and brought her to the village elder, all chattering back and forth with eager questions about where Gwen was from and if she was going to stay and become part of the village.

“She is so skinny!” One remarked in astonishment.

“Do you not want a proper husband?” Another questioned.

“Your hair falls everywhere! Does this not bother you?” The third asked.

Gwen didn’t really have much in the way of answers at that moment but her heart was racing at the realization of how different her culture was from theirs.

Sitting inside of a large hut at the back of the village was an enormous woman who sat wide-legged on a stool with a massive ball of brown belly fat hanging between them. Her chest, much like the girls from before, was adorned with a number of colorful necklaces. Unlike the younger women however, she sat with her bare breasts spread out like droopy pancakes on her belly as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

(2)

“You are Gwen-do-lin, ah?” She asked, her plump jowls quivering as she spoke.

“Yes ma’am, that’s me.” Gwen replied.

“Hmm.” Grunted the elder.

The tiny blonde girl felt miniscule in the woman’s presence and stood awkwardly for what felt like ages as the fat woman eyed her up and down, her bald head wrapped in a simple blue cloth.

“Turn, girl.” She said at last, prompting an increasingly nervous Gwen to nearly jump at the order.

Again the woman stared at her for several minutes before calling one of the village girls watching from nearby to come over and help. This girl too, Gwen noticed was even fatter than the others she had seen before, but appeared to be a little older as well. She was curvy and wore an African style cap over her head as a sort of hair wrap to protect her hair, or so Gwen surmised.

(3)

From a nearby basket, the woman plucked out a curious, purple fruit the likes of which the blonde scholar had never seen before and walked it over to them. The woman smiled as she grabbed Gwen’s right hand and placed the fruit firmly in it, making sure that the white girl’s finger closed around it before relinquishing control.

(4)

“Eat this and see me again in one week where we will present you to the elders and village. Work and stay quiet until you are told to speak. Until you join the village as a member of our tribe, you are only a quiet guest. Now go.” The massive old woman ordered, waving Gwen away with a flip of her hand.

Part of the village.

The adventure of a lifetime.

A new culture.

New friends.

As Gwen walked away with the fat girl that had been called to help her to her new home, she took a bite of the sweet, sweet fruit in her hand, savoring it’s flavor as she prepared herself for a whole new life.